In those days of 1848 and 1849 and during 1850 and 1851, San Francisco--on which we are now looking, the stately, comely city of to-day, was a city of tents in a large measure. Ships were pouring out their passengers at the Long Wharf. They would tent for a time on the shore, then hurry off to the mines. In those days you could meet in the streets men of various nationalities. Here were gold seekers from New England and old England, from our own Southland and the sunny land of France and Italy, from Germany and Sweden and Norway, from Canada and other British possessions, from China and Japan. And it was gold which brought them all here, the statesman and the soldier, the labouring man and the child of fortune, sons of adversity and sons of prosperity, rich and poor, lawyers, doctors, merchants, sailors, scholars, unlettered,--all are here for gold. Such is the San Francisco of those early days. It is a romance of reality, of the Golden West! CHAPTER IV THE STORY OF GOLDEN GATE PARK AND THE CEMETERIES St. Andrew's Brotherhood--Patras--The Cross at Megara and the Golden Gate--Portsmouth Square and its Life--Other City Squares and Parks--Golden Gate Park, its Beauty, Objects and Places of Interest--Prayer Book Cross--Chance Visitors--Logan the Guide--First View of the Pacific Ocean--"Thy Way is in the Sea"--The Cemeteries of San Francisco--World-wide Sentiment--Group Around Lone Mountain--Story of the Graves--Earth's Ministries--Lesson of the Heavens. When my companion Ashton and I landed at the Market Street Ferry House, an imposing structure of two stories, with a wide hall on the second floor and offices and bureaus of information on either side, our newfound friend, Mr. Young, bade us a "Good-by" with a hearty handshake, hoping he might meet us again. Before leaving us, however, he introduced us to a young man a member of the Brotherhood of St. Andrew, who took us to the temporary office of the Society in the Ferry House, and gave us necessary directions about the street cars, hotels and churches. We were in a strange city on the western shore of the Continent, yet, we felt at home at once through the cordial greeting of the Brotherhood. The St. Andrew's Cross, which our young guide wore on his coat, was indeed a friendly token. It spoke volumes to the heart; and I was carried back in memory to that early morning, when, having sailed over Ionian Seas, our good ship cast anchor in the Bay of Patras, and my feet pressed the soil which had been consecrated by the blood of the Saint, whose cross was now a token of good will and welcome at the ends of the earth. I could not but recall besides a memorable incident in connection with the Saint Andrew's Cross. We had passed the Isthmus of Corinth, and our train halted for a space at Megara, a town of six or seven thousand people, where is the bluest blood in all Greece; and as I alighted from my coach on the Athens and Peloponnesus Railway, I saw, some twenty rods away, a Greek Papa or